Reflected in You: A Crossfire Novel

protested.
    “I have to freshen up,” I told him.
    “All right. But I insist on buying you a drink when you come back.”
    I took off after his mother, debating whether I should just come out and tell Christopher I thought he was a total asswipe of epic proportions. I didn’t know if Magdalene had told him about the video, and if she hadn’t, I figured there was probably a good reason why.
    I waited for Elizabeth just outside the bathroom. When she reappeared, she spotted me hanging out in the hallway and smiled. Gideon’s mother was a beautiful woman, with long straight black hair and the same amazing blue eyes as her son and Ireland. Just looking at her made my heart hurt. I missed Gideon so much. It was an hourly battle with myself not to contact him and take whatever I could get.
    “Eva.” She greeted me with air kisses for each of my cheeks. “Christopher said it was you. I didn’t recognize you at first. You look so different with your hair like that. I think it’s lovely.”
    “Thanks. I need to talk to you. Privately.”
    “Oh?” She frowned. “Is something wrong? Is it Gideon?”
    “Come on.” I gestured deeper down the hallway, toward the emergency exit.
    “What’s this about?”
    Once we were away from the bathrooms, I told her. “Remember when Gideon was a child and he told you he’d been abused or violated?”
    Her face paled. “He told you about that?”
    “No. But I’ve witnessed his nightmares. His horrible, ugly, vicious nightmares where he begs for mercy.” My voice was low but throbbed with anger. It was all I could do not to keep my hands to myself as she stood there looking both embarrassed and militant. “It was your job to protect and support him!”
    Her chin went up. “You don’t know—”
    “You’re not to blame for what happened before you knew.” I got in her face, felt satisfaction when she took a step back. “But anything that happened after he told you is entirely your fault.”
    “Fuck you,” she spat at me. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. How dare you come up to me like this and say these things to me when you’re clueless!”
    “Yeah, I dare. Your son is seriously damaged by what happened to him, and your refusal to believe him made it a million times worse.”
    “You think I would tolerate the abuse of my own child?” Her face was flushed with anger and her eyes too bright. “I had Gideon examined by two separate pediatricians to look for . . . trauma. I did everything I could be expected to do.”
    “Except believe him. Which is what you should’ve done as his mother.”
    “I’m Christopher’s mother, too, and he was there. He swears nothing happened. Who was I supposed to believe when there was no proof? No one could find anything to support Gideon’s claims.”
    “He shouldn’t have had to provide proof. He was a child!” The anger I felt was vibrating through me. My fists were clenched against the urge to hit her. Not just for what Gideon had lost, but for what we’d lost together. “You were supposed to take his side no matter what.”
    “Gideon was a troubled boy, struggling through therapy over his father’s death, and desperate for attention. You don’t know what he was like then.”
    “I know what he’s like now. He’s broken and hurting and doesn’t think he’s worth loving. And you helped make him that way.”
    “Go to hell.” She stormed off.
    “I’m already there,” I shouted after her. “And so is your son.”
    * * *
     
    I spent all day Sunday being Old Eva.
    Trey had the day off and took Cary out for brunch and a movie. I was pleased to see them together, thrilled that they were both trying. Cary hadn’t invited over any of the people who called his cell, and I wondered if he was rethinking his friendships. I suspected many were of the fair-weather variety—great fun but no substance.
    Having the entire apartment to myself, I slept too much, ate crappy food, and never bothered to change out of my pajamas. I cried over Gideon in the privacy of my room, staring at the collage of photos that used to be on my desk at work. I missed the weight of his ring on my finger and the sound of his voice. I missed the feel of his hands and lips on me and the tenderly possessive way he took care of me.
    When Monday came around, I left the apartment as New Eva. With smoky eyes, pink lips, and my new bouncy layered cut, I felt like I could pretend to be someone else for the day. Someone who wasn’t